


Curiosity Killed The Cat (But, Oh, The Satisfaction Brought Him Back)

by MonsterTesk



Series: Apparel [9]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Anal Sex, Biting, Dirty Talk, Hand Jobs, M/M, Multi, Oral Sex, Verbal Humiliation, Voyeurism
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-10-12
Updated: 2014-10-12
Packaged: 2018-02-20 22:03:33
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 8
Words: 6,905
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2444762
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MonsterTesk/pseuds/MonsterTesk
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Chris has an unusual request.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The Wife-Swap Edition

**Author's Note:**

> I've been on the fence about posting this since like midway through writing 'Clothes' because I don't particularly think that this would actually happen in my 'verse but it wouldn't leave me alone and I wanted to see what others think of it.  
> So consider this your Halloween trick or treat. I might take it down on November first or I might keep it up.

“Are you sure about this?” Stiles asks for what must be the fourteenth time today alone. Chris nods, squeezing Stiles’ tense left thigh under his hand.

“I am. Are you OK with this?”

Stiles gnaws on his lip, frown in place. Chris’ stomach is so full of nerves that he nearly wants to throw up but he wants this—no, _needs_ this.

“Y-yeah. If it’s what you want, I can do this.”

Chris nods and takes in a deep breath, turning his head away from Stiles to check on the other couple in the room. Derek has his head tucked in between the couch and Isaac’s shoulder, fingers wrapped around Isaac’s while Isaac stares right at Stiles, jaw tense and a resolute expression on his face.

They both need this, Chris amends when Isaac’s eyes turn to him. He doubts Stiles or Derek fully understand but they are, at least, humoring them. Though it’s not so much of a hardship for them. Or maybe it is. For all Chris having known the two back then he never really saw them together.

“They’re not lying; they do believe they want this,” Derek says into Isaac’s neck. Chris nods because he does and has for a while. He’s thought about it far more than he’d like to admit if he’s being honest.

“Alright,” Stiles responds with more confidence than he had with Chris which—which actually stings a little and makes him think that Stiles trusts Derek more than him. Even if it’s not the case, Chris doesn’t like the thought that the love of his life maybe believes his ex more than him. He pushes it down, tries not to think about it. That’s not why they’re all here.

“So, uh, how do we start this?” Isaac asks, eyes roving around the room.

Chris opens his mouth to respond; to suggest that they move locations but Stiles cuts him off.

“If this is gonna actually happen then I’m gonna need some aspirin and lots of water first.”

Chris squeezes Stiles’ thigh, suddenly overcome with a jealousy he doesn’t want to inspect too closely. He watches Isaac stand and pull Derek up with him. Even after this long it’s still strange to see how pliant Derek is with Isaac, how easily he folds to any and every whim of the young man’s. He can’t imagine how witnessing that makes Stiles feel. Possibly he doesn’t want to. It’s hard enough for him to deal with how close his boyfriend and said boyfriend’s ex are without exploring the possible feelings that Stiles might have watching the two werewolves.

As ill advised as he knows their current course of action might be, he can’t help but want it even with his own irrational insecurities.

Chris stands and waits for Stiles to join him, knowing better than to offer to help Stiles get up from the couch without being asked to. He falls into step beside Stiles easily, the practice of a thousand previous steps making it easier for him to keep Stiles’ slower pace. Isaac and Derek make no such concessions, easily falling out of sight as they head into the kitchen. By the time Chris and Stiles get there, Isaac has taken a seat at the kitchen table and Derek stands ready by the sink with a tall glass of water and the bottle of aspirin Chris keeps in the cabinet above the coffee machine.

As if this were scripted and decided upon beforehand, Chris breaks away from Stiles to join Isaac at the table and Stiles continues on his way over to Derek. Chris settles into his place at the table and watches Stiles swallow two pills and the entire glass of water. None of them say a thing. Chris wonders if the rest of them participating in this tableau feel as awkward as he does.

Stiles fills up his glass again and drinks it slowly, Derek standing next to him like some vibrating dark shadow. Isaac shifts in his seat, drawing everyone but Stiles’ eyes to him. Isaac nods at Derek and Chris watches Derek take in a deep breath and still like that means something.

Carefully, more so than Chris had expected, Derek takes the glass away from Stiles, sets it on the counter, and moves into Stiles’ space. He touches Stiles’ bicep with one hand, the other grazes lightly at Stiles’ hip. That seems to be the cue Stiles was waiting for because he goes from tensed to relaxed and runs the fingers of his left hand over Derek’s forearm. When they kiss Chris can’t tell who leans in first.

It starts out hesitant, a light brush of lips. Chris consciously keeps himself from reacting. Derek looks to Isaac and Stiles looks down, licking his lips when they part. Chris has never seen the expression on Stiles’ face before. He doesn’t know how to describe it. He does know that it scares him a little.

Out of the corner of his eye, he sees Isaac shake his head then Derek’s ducking his own, hands now gripping Stiles more confidently. This time Chris knows Derek initiates the kiss, crowding into Stiles and moving his arms. One loops around Stiles’ shoulders and the other wraps around his waist. Something tugs low in Chris’ gut when he sees how Stiles responds. Stiles makes a noise low in his throat, dropping his cane and grabbing at Derek’s arms, pressing himself into the wall of preternatural muscle that is Derek Hale.

They don’t so much kiss as attack each other’s mouths. Derek’s hands slide across Stiles’ body—a body that Chris knows so well and loves so very much – roving down and back until he grips handfuls of Stiles’ plush ass. The longer the kiss goes on the more frantic it seems. Teeth flashing, lips sliding across each other until it’s such a thing of frenetic energy that Chris is sure they’ve forgotten about him and Isaac.

Isaac’s hand finds his and he spares a moment to look over. His eyes are wide, mouth parted as he watches the two in front of them. Chris wraps his fingers around Isaac’s larger hand and turns back to Stiles and Derek.


	2. Let's Take This To The Bedroom

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Satanic button-fly jeans.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm still waiting... should I keep going? I'll take kudos as votes for yes or even comments. You know how much us ff writers love us some comments...

They’ve stopped kissing in the time that Chris wasn’t watching but it’s less a cessation than a relocation. Stiles lets out this breathy noise Chris has only heard once before, fingers digging into Derek’s back while Derek’s mouth kisses a trail down Stiles’ neck. He tenses like he knows something Chris doesn’t then Derek stretches his mouth wide over Stiles’ neck in a seemingly random location and bites down. Stiles moans, body going slack. Chris is sure that if it weren’t for Derek’s hands on Stiles’ ass that Stiles would have fallen. He thinks that Derek knew this before he sunk his teeth into Stiles’ beautiful neck. Isaac’s hand squeezes his briefly as they both watch Stiles’ hands scrabble up to grab Derek’s ears. Chris is sure for a moment that Stiles is going to push Derek away and shout, “What the fuck?” but it doesn’t happen.

Instead Stiles tugs lightly on Derek’s ears until the man raises up, lips shiny, to look Stiles in the eyes. They must communicate something that’s lost on Chris’ human eyes and ears because both of their faces soften at the same time, hands sliding gently in tandem; Stiles’ down to link together around Derek’s shoulders and Derek’s up to smooth under Stiles’ shirt, kneading against the muscle there.

Stiles kisses Derek once, softly. He says, “Come on,” in a voice so soft that Chris nearly doesn’t hear it. “Take care of me.”

Derek makes a noise Chris can only describe as needy and kisses Stiles hard, backing him up until he’s pressed into the kitchen island. Dozens of images of Stiles sitting on that very counter watching Chris make breakfast and trying to tempt him away from the stove with slow and sleepy morning kisses assault Chris as Derek hefts Stiles up. It’s Chris’ turn to tighten his hold on Isaac’s hand briefly. He nearly calls a ceasefire then, unable to cope with the double images but Stiles laughs instead of hisses at the pain that must have caused him and sets his teeth into Derek’s jaw, left leg hooking around Derek’s hip.

Chris watches Derek press his teeth against Stiles’ ear and tug open the button of Stiles’ jeans. Stiles bats his hand away and undoes the zipper himself. Chris smiles to himself, as always, amused by how adorable Stiles is. His eyes wander down to where their hands had just been. Both of their pants are tented and, from what Chris can see past Stiles’ right thigh, Derek’s is… actually pretty large. He knew that Derek was big but he’s positive what he’s seeing must be a trick of satanic tailoring.

Stiles hisses when Derek’s hand shoves into his boxers, teeth setting into Derek’s T-shirt covered shoulder. Derek makes this whining sort of growl and steps back enough to all but rip his and Stiles’ shirts off. He ducks his head and presses sloppy wet kisses to Stiles’ chest as soon as it’s uncovered and Stiles sighs, fingers curling into the waistband of Derek’s jeans and Chris—Chris can’t even lie to himself. They look beautiful like this; Stiles’ head thrown back, chest moving with each large breath, legs framing Derek’s hips and Derek curved down and forward, hands gently cupping Stiles’ sides as his mouth leaves a shiny trail of adulations across Stiles’ skin.

Derek works his way back up to Stiles’ mouth and kisses him slowly. Stiles’ fingers work on Derek’s jeans, slowly popping each button of those hellish button-fly jeans.

There’s a flash of teeth—Stiles’—then Derek is groaning softly as Stiles’ hand works him under the cover of his jeans. Chris shifts in his seat when Stiles smirks, staring directly into Derek’s eyes and moves his hand. There’s a challenge in his eyes so irresistible that Chris almost stands, almost goes to him, but Isaac swipes his thumb over the back of his hand and the urge subsides.

Derek drags his nails down Stiles’ sides, hooks his fingers into his jeans and nearly tears them off of Stiles.

Stiles hisses, hands flying up to dig into the meat of Derek’s arms.

“ _Fuck,_ ” he swears with feeling but then Derek is there again, sliding his hand over Stiles’ thigh, sapping the pain away. Stiles leans forward, bites into Derek’s bicep and sighs. Derek smiles softly and nips at Stiles’ ear.

“Yeah,” Stiles says as if responding to a question Chris never heard Derek ask. They kiss again, Derek’s hands roving up to knead at Stiles’ ass. Neither of them stops for what seems to Chris to be an inordinate amount of time. He’s afraid they’re stuck in some sort of holding pattern until Stiles tugs on Derek’s ear again.

Derek huffs out, “You and your beds,” Like Stiles has said something and licks a long stripe up the side of Stiles’ neck. He digs his fingers under Stiles’ ass, Stiles wriggles, wrapping both legs around Derek as best he can and—they’re mobile, slowly making their way out of the kitchen.

Isaac tugs on Chris’ hand and he follows the boy’s lead out of his chair and down the hall.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm gonna keep posting this in short-ish chapters, I think. I don't know. I've written like thirty fucking pages of nothing but wife-swap porn. It's kind of ridiculous.


	3. Sex Birds

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Something not meant for a mortal to lay eyes on.

They don’t head to the right, towards Chris and Stiles’ bedroom (no, he had decided early on that that he couldn’t handle—not in _their_ bed) but to the left and up the stairs, into the spare room. It’s slow going, Stiles and Derek stopping often to kiss against walls and furniture at random. Isaac’s hand is warm, dry, comforting in Chris’ and when he pulls Chris down onto the futon in the room, he goes easily, partially understanding now why Derek is so pliant under Isaac’s gentle influence.

Isaac pulls Chris close, tucking him in easily against his side and Chris is grateful for it as they watch Derek lay Stiles out on the large bed in front of them and slide down Stiles’ lean body. Chris’ hand clenches around Isaac’s, his teeth pinching his own lip tightly as he waits for Derek to put his mouth on Stiles’ wonderful cock.

It doesn’t happen, though. Not immediately. Derek layers kisses with bites all over Stiles’ hips and thighs indiscriminately until Stiles is squirming, hands fisting Derek’s hair, body curling up a little and these constant half-moan half growl noises begin to pour out of his mouth.

“Fuck—Fuck!” Stiles shouts, hips bucking when Derek bites hard into the soft spot where thigh and groin meet. “Derrrek.”

Chris’ breath catches, watching that cock he’s so familiar with disappear into Derek’s sharp mouth. He’s a little worried Derek is going to bite it the way he’s bit every other part of Stiles he’s put his mouth to but he doesn’t.

About the time Stiles reaches over to the nightstand for the bottle of lube Chris had put there earlier, Chris realizes that he’s unaccountably and embarrassingly hard in his jeans. He shifts in his seat and Isaac lets go of his hand, arm moving to wrap around Chris like he expects to have to hold Chris back.

Stiles hits Derek in the head hard enough with the bottle of lube that Chris hears the impact. Derek pulls his mouth off of Stiles’ cock and crawls up Stiles’ body, spreading his legs to such an angle that Chris knows it’s causing Stiles pain. They kiss again, biting at each other’s lips but Chris’ eyes are drawn away, down their twined bodies to where Stiles’ spit-shiny cock presses and rubs against Derek’s still jean-clad groin. It looks—and Chris can’t believe he’s thinking this—delicious. He wants to lick at Derek’s jeans, clean off the spit and precome Stiles is smearing there.

Until Derek’s arm obscured the view. He pushes Stiles’ leg up and out of his way, sliding his slicked up fingers into Stiles in a way that screams lots of practice he hadn’t forgot. Isaac’s fingers dig into Chris’ ribs when Stiles moans Derek’s name, hips moving, pressing into Derek’s fingers.

They stay like that for a while; Derek fingering Stiles, Chris barely breathing, Isaac’s fingers bruising his ribs, and Stiles panting. It feels like an eternity to Chris watching Derek fuck Stiles with his fingers slow and steady while Stiles moans and wriggles, mouth open wide as if in delirious shock. The moment is broken by Derek biting hard into the meat of Stiles’ shoulder, shoving his fingers hard into Stiles.

Stiles shouts, scratching up Derek’s back but it’s Chris who gasps quietly, finally realizing why Stiles reacts so strongly when he does that same damn thing. They both look over to him at the same time. Chris digs his fingers into Isaac’s thigh, suddenly absolutely terrified. He feels like he’s trespassing on the gods, seeing something not meant for a mortal to lay eyes on. They both seem so otherworldly, so inhuman, stretched out together on the spare bed, the soft light of the bedside lamp casting them in strange colors.

Derek dips his head down, eyes still locked on Chris and Chris can’t help but think of the wolf documentary Stiles and he watched the other night.

“You see that?” Derek asks right into Stiles’ ear, more than loud enough to carry across the room to Chris. Stiles nods, still panting. “You made him like that.”

Stiles shudders and Chris is digging his nails so hard into Isaac it makes his fingers ache. Derek twists his wrist, shoving his fingers home inside of Stiles. Isaac’s hand slides down, now resting on Chris’ hip lightly. Stiles’ cock jumps and he groans out a well meant, “Fuck.”

Derek finally looks away to drag his teeth over Stiles’ neck.

“I’m going to fuck you until you scream my name and he’s gonna watch me do it,” Derek murmurs, pulling his fingers out. Stiles moans, digging his nails into Derek’s back. “He wants to see it. To see how pretty you look on my cock.”

Derek nips at Stiles’ jaw then kneels up, shoving his jeans down and off. Chris’ breath catches. Stiles squirms back across the bed, away from Derek but Chris only has eyes for the angry read monster between Derek’s legs. Jesus. No wonder Stiles calls him Big Guy.

Isaac’s fingers tighten on Chris’ hip as Derek grabs Stiles and yanks him back down. Stiles hisses but it doesn’t seem like a complaint. They kiss, a clash of teeth and grabbing hands until Derek is lined up, pushing into Stiles quick and mercilessly. Stiles groans, hips wriggling, arms near-flapping across the bedspread. Isaac nuzzles into Chris’ neck, lips brushing across his skin. Chris turns his head, caught off-guard.

“No,” Isaac whispers, cupping Chris’ jaw and turning his head back forward. “Watch them.”

He does as he’s told.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please someone tell me if the short chapters make this difficult to read.
> 
>  
> 
> And also if I miss any typos or syntax errors. I'm literally posting this as soon as I finish typing it.


	4. Gold Stickers For Everyone

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Stiles stretches out his arms towards Chris, a frown heavy on his face.

Derek is biting at Stiles’ neck, pumping into him easily, one of Stiles’ hands in his hair and the other slowly scratching over his side and down. Isaac kisses across Chris’ neck slowly, methodically. Chris can’t help but think about having that attention spread out over his whole body as he does it. He shivers at the same time that Stiles shudders. He’s breathing heavy and every part of him buzzes. Isaac’s hand slides across his chest and down, cupping his ribs, leaving a trail of soft warmth wherever he touches.

Stiles makes this sort of frustrated whine, Derek back-channeling a low growl and, in a confident move, slides backwards, pulling Stiles up until he’s on his back and Stiles is sitting on top of him. Stiles plants his hands on Derek’s chest, staring down at him and Derek rubs his hands over Stiles’ thigh. He thrusts up and Stiles moves, rolls his hips and moans, cock bobbing in the air as he rides Derek’s dick.

It doesn’t escape Chris’ notice that Derek never takes his left hand off of Stiles’ right thigh, the veins growing dark in a way that let’s Chris know both how and why they’re able to manage that.

“Fuck, Derek,” Stiles hisses, reaching for his dick. Derek bats his hand away and fucks up into Stiles hard and fast.

Smoothly, Isaac pulls Chris into his lap and runs his hands over Chris’ sides. It surprises him enough to let slip a soft, “Oh,” at the change in positions but not as much as what presses into his ass, hard and hot even through his jeans. Isaac teases his tongue at the back of Chris’ ear and gooseflesh erupts all over him.

Stiles is making these continuous little shouts like low-level wailing, fingers digging into Derek’s pecks as Derek continues to fuck up into him, mouth open and eyes wide. Isaac pops the button of Chris’ jeans, now mouthing at the back of Chris’ neck. His hips twitch, rubbing his ass back against Isaac who presses his cock up against Chris. He feels… naughty doing this. Like he isn’t supposed to be and that at any moment he would be caught out and punished for it. His face is hot enough that he knows it must be beat red.

Derek rolls over, pulling Stiles with them until they’re diagonal across the bed. He pins Stiles’ hands together over Stiles’ head with one of his own, sets his teeth into Stiles’ neck, and fists Stiles’ cock with his free hand. Stiles laughs, cutting it short to groan at this.

Chris leans back into Isaac, wanting to feel that strange cock more, wanting to luxuriate in the feel of Isaac around him. Isaac takes that as an opportunity to unzip his jeans and Chris sighs. This so isn’t a part of the original agreement – him and Isaac were only supposed to watch—but when Isaac pulls him out, Chris latches one hand around his forearm, the other coming up to cup his head, fingers sliding through that curly hair as Isaac sucks hard on a patch of sensitive skin on his neck.

Stiles meanwhile is writhing under Derek, the only words leaving his mouth in between these growl-like moans are Derek’s name and cusswords. Isaac’s hand moves in time to Derek’s thrusts, Chris’ hips twitching without him deciding for them to, pushing himself up into that big hand.

It’s not long after that that Stiles wails, body jerking, and comes on his stomach, cock dark in Derek’s hand. Chris bites his bottom lip, resisting the urge to leave Isaac’s hold to lick Stiles’ stomach clean. He loves the taste of Stiles so much. Derek kisses him after, hips still moving and Stiles moans into his mouth. Isaac squeezes the head of Chris’ dick and Chris makes a small noise unable to stop himself as Isaac gently teethes at his shoulder.

 Derek whispers something so quietly that Chris doesn’t hear it but he’s sure Isaac does when he inhales sharply, rubbing himself against Chris’ ass. Derek pulls out, flips Stiles, and pushing and shoves him until the top of his head is pointed at Chris and Isaac. He pushes back in and Stiles moans, shaking his head and biting at the bed sheet under him.

Derek hovers over him, pumping into him, arms flexing in the dim light where he holds himself up. He ducks his head, laps lightly at the curve of Stiles’ ear, and grinds out, “Look.”

Stiles raises his head, eyes locking onto Chris’ then slides them down to where Isaac is still pumping at Chris’ cock. He makes this weird little nasally whine, body jerking with the force of Derek’s cock moving inside of him. Stiles stretches out his arms towards Chris, a frown heavy on his face.

“That’s mine,” Stiles says, eyes moving back up to lock on to Chris’. “You’re mine.”

Chris’ breath hitches, body going rigid.

“Yes,” he moans out and comes over Isaac’s hand, infinitely glad because he belongs to that beautiful man in front of him. He’s panting, not able to get enough air as Isaac licks sweat off the back of his neck, hand still on his dick. He firmly squeezes Chris once as if to reward him for a job well done and Chris shudders, sliding a little down Isaac’s body.


	5. Nothing To Teeth At

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “You son of a bitch,” Isaac hisses, glaring over Chris at, presumably, Stiles.

Stiles sighs, this ridiculously forlorn look on his face as his eyes fix on Isaac’s come covered hand.

“Mine,” he says in a plaintive tone, wriggling under Derek as if he’s entirely forgotten about the man fucking him in favor of Chris’ come. Isaac slides out from under Chris carefully and stands, abandoning him on the couch.

“You want it?” Isaac asks, closing the distance between the futon and bed. Stiles nods vigorously, pushing himself up onto his elbows, Derek still quietly working away behind him. Isaac kneels to the side of Stiles, careful not to block Chris’ view from where he’s slumped against the cushions like a forgotten doll. Isaac raises his hand to Stiles’ mouth and Stiles makes this happy needy little noise, tongue coming out to lap Chris’ come off of that hand.

He sucks Isaac’s long fingers into his mouth and Derek makes this desperate noise behind Stiles, digs his teeth into Stiles’ shoulder, eyes locked on his mouth, and comes in Stiles. Around Isaac’s fingers, Stiles moans, pushing himself back into Derek. Chris’ cock twitches where it lays limp against his open jeans and if it were something Chris was capable of, he’d come again watching the tableau in front of him.

Derek pulls out, lies down on the bed, and pulls Stiles bodily onto him like a human shaped blanket. Stiles makes a high-pitched disgruntled noise, his mouth separating from Isaac’s fingers with an obscene noise. He turns to glare at Derek but Derek just pulls him in and kisses him, opening his mouth wide and, Chris is sure, licking the inside of his mouth clean. Both Chris and Isaac make a small noise at the sight. Chris has no doubt that Isaac is also thinking about how Derek is tasting Chris’ come in Stiles’ mouth. It’s a level of depravity that Chris never thought himself capable of but tonight has been a night full of such things that it hardly registers.

Isaac retreats to the futon and sits down next to Chris. Silently, they watch Stiles and Derek kiss, hands roving over each other. Chris can’t bear to watch it, watch this post-coital show of intimacy. So when Isaac’s fingers grip the back of his neck, still a little wet and sticky, Chris slides off the couch and puts his back to the view, wedging himself between Isaac’s long legs.

He pauses only once with his hands at Isaac’s fly to look up and make sure that he’s OK with this. Isaac is staring down at him, hands now fisted on the cushions, mouth parted, eyes wide like he’s shocked Chris would do this. But that’s all right. Chris is pretty shocked by it, too.

Chris pops the button of Isaac’s fly, eyebrows rising in question. Isaac licks his lips and looks over Chris’ head.

“If you want,” Stiles says, voice slurred and a little muffled. “He’s real good at it.”

Isaac takes in a deep breath and nods slightly. That’s all the permission he needs to unzip Isaac’s fly and pull him out. He sucks at the head of Isaac’s sticky and leaking dick, digging his hands into Isaac’s jeans and tugging.

Isaac lifts his hips, helping Chris pull down his jeans and boxers. Chris mouths down the side, trying to familiarize himself. He’s not as thick as Stiles but slightly longer. His doesn’t curve off to the side like Stiles’ does but sticks up, straight and long. That’s OK, though. It just makes it easier for Chris to swallow him down, bobbing his head and cradling Isaac’s heavy sack in his hand.

It doesn’t take long for Chris to have him worked up enough to clutch at his head with his big hands. Chris experiments with pace, suction, depth, and wetness until Isaac is panting, fingers tugging at Chris’ hair and hips moving. Chris meets every one of Isaac’s micro-thrusts enthusiastically, egging him on, pushing him deeper into his throat until Isaac is all but fucking his face and Chris is just along for the ride, allowing his hands to rub over Isaac’s thin thighs, fingers to trace Isaac’s sharp hipbones. Isaac’s legs squeeze Chris’ shoulders, fingers pulling Chris’ hair near painfully. Chris swallows around him, tongue ululating against the underside of Isaac’s cock.

Isaac shouts, hisses Chris’ name, and comes down his throat. He moans, twitching under Chris when Chris continues to suck, fingers massaging his balls, milking him dry. Chris only stops when Isaac’s moan becomes a pained sounding whine.

He sits back on his haunches and observes what he did. A flash of pride shoots through Chris. Isaac looks wrecked, lips red like he was biting them hard, a glaze to his eyes, and a blush so strong across his cheeks that he looks sunburned.

“Damn,” Isaac breathes out softly, shakily.

“Seconded,” Derek calls from the bed in a dry voice. Stiles snorts.

“ _You son of a bitch_ ,” Isaac hisses, glaring over Chris at, presumably, Stiles.

“What?” Stiles asks. Chris still hasn’t turned around, faced the other two people in the room. He’s maybe a little scared to.

“You’ve got a world class cock sucker like this and you gotta fuck _my_ boyfriend?”

Stiles laughs and it’s light and relieved. Chris relaxes a bit at the sound of that. Stiles doesn’t laugh like that when he’s pissed.

“It was his idea.”

Isaac shakes his head, standing on wobbly legs, jeans falling down to his ankles. He steps out of them easily, shucking his shirt and, with that, Chris is the only one still clothed in the room.


	6. The Monroe Doctrine of Dicks

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “My angel has the mouth of a devil and you don’t even compare.”

“Your boyfriend likes my boyfriend’s mouth,” Stiles singsongs. Chris looks over in time to watch Derek shudder as Stiles drags his bottom row of teeth over Derek’s chest, hand fisting Derek’s newly hard cock. Derek squirms across the sheets, legs kicking at the blankets on the bed, face scrunched up in a way that would be comical in any other situation.

“Jesus, you weren’t kidding about that never only once thing,” Isaac says, voice showcasing his surprise. Stiles smiles this wicked thing, bites at Derek’s nipple, and moves his hand slowly. Derek fists the sheets, hips working himself up against Stiles’ hand.

“Fuck you,” Derek grinds out between panting breaths.

“That’s the agenda for the night,” Stiles responds in a happy voice, stretched out next to Derek, naked and half-hard.

Chris feels a moment of impotence, knowing that he could never be ready again as quick as Derek or even Stiles. It’s not necessarily an age thing because Chris has never been able to go back to back like that.

“I know you liked that. Your boy’s cock disappearing into my man’s mouth,” Stiles murmurs, fingers sliding down to fondle Derek’s balls. Derek makes this whining noise, turning onto his side to hide his face against Stiles’ neck. “He’s so good at it, Big Guy. Better than you and now Isaac knows.”

Chris feels something settle in his stomach at Stiles’ words. It might be pride but it feels like security as he watches his Stiles work Derek over and talk about him.

“Sometimes when he uses his mouth on me, we don’t even end up fucking cause he’s that talented with his mouth. Nearly makes me lose my mind and believe in god. Now Isaac knows, too,” Stiles continues, mouth grazing Derek’s shoulder, hand still moving, roving over Derek’s hips, sides, up and over his shoulder to grip his ear. “My angel has the mouth of a devil and you don’t even _compare_.”

Derek groans, shoving Stiles onto his back and kneeing his legs apart. Chris’ breath catches at that, realizing that Stiles insulting Derek like that actually turns Derek on. Stiles laughs, teeth flashing in the light as Derek lines himself up and pushes into Stiles’ already used hole. He attacks Stiles’ neck and shoulders, fucking him hard.

“Come on,” Stiles groans out, scratching his nails down Derek’s back. “If you’re trying to prove you’re better than him at this you’ll have to try harder.”

Chris’ heart rate accelerates in time with Derek’s thrusts.

“Cause he fucks me so good, Derek. So good, you—” Stiles pauses to hiss, Derek now fucking him hard enough that the bed is shaking with it. “Your dick may be bigger but he knows how to _use_ it.”

Derek grunts and rears back, hands pulling Stiles up. Stiles mouth has fallen open, his hands braced on the headboard, shoving his body onto Derek’s dick. He moans Chris’ name, reaching one hand down to stroke his own dick and Chris is having palpitations, seriously worried about a heart attack as Derek slams into Stiles hard enough that the bed scoots across the floor with the force of it.

“Jesus,” Isaac breathes out, plopping back down on the couch. Chris silently agrees, climbing back up on the couch. He pulls Isaac’s arms around him, tucking himself in against Isaac’s warm side. Isaac tightens his grip on Chris, rubbing his mouth over Chris’ hair and Chris is glad to have him there because Stiles hasn’t stopped moaning for a while now. Chris watches and wants to cross the distance between him and Stiles, put his hands and mouth on him, shove Derek off, and ride Stiles’ cock like it’s Sunday morning and he’s going to church.

“Ohhh, fuck. Fuck. Fuck! Derrrrrrek!” Stiles shouts, shoving himself onto that big cock, giving as good as he gets. Derek hits Stiles’ hand away from his cock and replaces it with his own, pumping Stiles at the same pace he fucks into him.

This time when Stiles comes, Derek goes with him, body tensing briefly before he slumps, lying on top of Stiles. They’re both breathing heavy but still. Until Stiles’ hand comes up, smoothing over Derek’s back gently. He kisses Derek’s cheek, nudges him with his knee.

Derek raises his head, licks Stiles’ ear and slides off of Stiles. They move together, lining up until Stiles’ head is pillowed on Derek’s arm, back snug against Derek’s front. Derek runs his hand over Stiles’ side and snuggles close.

“OK?” he asks almost too quiet for Chris to hear. Stiles’ response is to nip at the muscle under his head. Derek smiles softly, squeezes Stiles’ hip, and lays his head down behind Stiles’. Chris’ heart breaks, realizing he’s watching a dead thing that he resurrected for a night of selfish curiosity and insecurity.

It’s incomprehensible that tomorrow this will all be put away, stored in dark boxes in the attic of Stiles and Derek’s heart. Briefly, he can’t image the two in front of him to ever belong to anyone else but each other, a predestination that not even their own desires could ever corrupt. He feels alone and out to drift, watching these two beautiful men lie together, be together.

 


	7. Insecurities Are More Crippling Than Derek.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The bite marks and hickeys that cover Stiles like the world’s most possessive polka dots.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> That title is a really awful and horrific joke about what Derek did to Stiles pre-'Clothes'. I'm really a piece of shit masquerading as a people.

Isaac squeezes him briefly, kissing Chris’ shoulder, and gently shoves Chris off the futon and onto his feet.

“Go,” he says quietly, standing to keep pushing at Chris. He stops when Chris is at the edge of the bed. Isaac moves around Chris, steps up onto the bed – tall bastard—and over the couple lying there. He settles down behind Derek, curving himself around that dark form like it’s the only place his pale self belongs.

Chris stands there and stares at the three young men lying there and wonders where exactly he fits in. Tired, old, ugly. He doesn’t belong here. Not with these three men who look more like Renaissance paintings come to life; full lips, curly hair, muscled bodies, and narrow hips.

Stiles frowns, reaching across the empty space of bed in front of him.

“Come on, Chris. Get naked and join the rest of us in the lemon party.”

Derek snorts and wriggles back, closer to Isaac. Chris smiles and shucks his jeans and T-shirt, leaving his boxers on. He retrieves the blanket from the end of the bed, knowing as he pulls it over the boys and Stiles that he’s procrastinating. Stiles sighs, snuggling in comfortably against Derek. Chris crawls under the blanket, heart still aching a little bit.

He lays there facing Stiles, wishing he were closer but unwilling to pass the blockade that is Derek Hale’s arm jutting out from under Stiles’ head to get there. Stiles reaches out, tangles his fingers with Chris’ like he does whenever they get ready to sleep but he’s got that look he gets whenever he’s not quite comfortable enough yet. Chris watches expressions flicker over Stiles’ face over Derek’s arm, unable to not see Derek when he looks at Stiles.

It’s not just his shoulder behind Stiles, the arm pillowing Stiles’ head, the hand that’s lightly petting over Stiles’ come covered stomach, or the bite marks and hickeys that cover Stiles like the world’s most possessive polka dots but right there in his face, the way he holds himself different depending on where Derek is in relation to him, how at ease he is when he’s spent the day with Derek, how Derek can get him to laugh with just a look, make him smile when Stiles is down no matter what, how in a fight Stiles works best when partnered with Derek and how they seem to be able to have whole conversations without opening their mouths. How can Chris compete with that?

Behind Stiles, Derek sighs, sitting up partway. He reaches over Stiles and grabs Chris, dragging him until he’s right up against Stiles. Chris shakes the hand off, glaring at Derek but Derek just rolls his eyes and flops back down into his spot between Stiles and Isaac.

“Don’t have to be telepathic to know Stiles wants you closer,” Derek huffs, sounding annoyed.

Stiles smiles, rolling his lips into his mouth and shuffles closer to Chris, pulling him in and down until Chris’ head is in its usual spot, tucked against Stiles’ shoulder.

Chris is tense, unable to get past the feel of Derek’s arm under his ear. Stiles runs his hands over Chris’ arm, sliding it down and back until he’s practically cradling Chris there. Chris sighs, resigned to the situation if it makes Stiles happy. He cranes his head back to kiss the underside of Stiles’ jaw then presses closer, closing his eyes so he doesn’t have to see the scores of marks left by Derek. He pulls Stiles’ hand against his chest and forces himself to relax, to forget about the other two men in his bed.

It’s surprisingly easy to do when Stiles kisses the top of his head and squeezes Chris’ ass like it’s any other night. It’s remarkably easy to fall asleep like this; warm and safe and cuddled up against his man.

 

If, by chance, he’s woken in the middle of the night by the familiar fidgets of Stiles mid-nightmare. If he smoothes his hand down Stiles’ flank and kisses his chest, hushing him with a quiet, “It’s alright, baby. Everyone’s safe,” then it’s no one’s business. Especially Derek’s, watching from the other side of Stiles, the twin to Stiles’ frown on his face. So Chris doesn’t have to answer him when he asks quietly, “Does he have nightmares often?” because it’s private and secret and not Chris’ to say.

If his lack of a response is possibly more telling than any answer he could give then so be it. Stiles sighs, settling down, clutching hard at Chris’ hand as he mumbles to himself words so slurred in sleep that they’re incomprehensible to Chris’ ears. Then that’s all right because Chris knows Stiles will tell him about his dream in the morning like he always does.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm slowly coming to the realization that my head!cannon Chris probably totally has a size kink.


	8. The Breakfast Of Champions Is Dicks.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Chris will watch Stiles groan, biting into a strawberry, and try not to think about Stiles’ teeth biting into Derek’s nipple as his hand worked him slowly.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm hella not sure about this ending.

In the morning, Chris will make sausage for breakfast because, as Stiles knows well, Chris can’t pass up the opportunity to make a joke at the expense of someone else’s comfort. Stiles will sit on the counter and talk with Chris, luring him away from the stove with coffee flavored kisses and that smile he gets like he can’t ever have enough of Chris. It won’t matter to Chris that Derek and Isaac are there because morning kisses from Stiles are some of his favorites and he won’t pass up the opportunity to get them.

And later on, after Isaac and Derek have showered, eaten, and left, after Chris and Stiles have spent the day relaxing on the couch, after Chris helps Stiles take a hot bath, Chris will pull Stiles close in bed, whisper things in his ear that make his breath catch. Chris will use his mouth, his hands, his body to make Stiles feel so good that he’ll let loose a litany of a dirty laundry list of things he wants to do to Chris, with Chris, for Chris.

Chris will layer Stiles in his love and watch him light up and smile, watch him groan and murmur Chris’ name. And then Stiles will do the same for him, pull him in close, kiss him, stroke him, and fill him up with so much love that even his fingertips will ache at the thought of how much this man loves him.

Then Stiles will kiss the top of his head, their fingers tangled together against Chris’ chest and they’ll fall asleep together, facing each other and cuddled up. Except this time Chris doesn’t wake in the middle of the night, Stiles doesn’t have a nightmare, and when Stiles smiles in the morning it has nothing to do with werewolves and everything to do with Chris having drooled on his chest.

For some reason Stiles likes it when Chris drools on him. He doesn’t get it but if it makes Stiles smile like that then he can live with the embarrassment of getting drooly when he’s sleeping with a naked Stiles. Then they’ll have strawberries and nutella on toast for breakfast in bed. Chris will watch Stiles groan, biting into a strawberry, and try not to think about Stiles’ teeth biting into Derek’s nipple as his hand worked him slowly. Chris will let Stiles lick nutella off of his lips instead of thinking about how Stiles had looked, hands on Derek’s chest and riding his cock.

Stiles will laugh when Chris spreads nutella over his body, covering up those hickey and bite marks with something sweet, to lick and kiss it off until Stiles is breathless and smiling, staring up at Chris like he’s the best thing to happen in the world.

He’ll murmur, “Oh, Angel. Come here,” when Chris looks up to his face, having finished cleaning him off with his tongue and feeling the weight of a mountain of unsureness settle onto his chest. Stiles will kiss him slow and sweet and perfect until Chris is desperate, can’t take any more of that wonderful mouth. Stiles will fuck him then, hands sticky and strawberries everywhere until Chris cries out his name and Stiles calls Chris beautiful. Chris will smile and bury his head against Stiles’ shoulder, irrationally elated.

Because whatever Chris fears doesn’t matter. Right now Stiles is his and, more importantly, he is Stiles’ man. Even if it’s just today then it’s worth it, eternally worth it. There’s nothing more he could possibly ask for aside from the company of this wonderful man.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Meh or slightly less meh of an ending?

**Author's Note:**

> So, what do y'all think? Should I continue this?


End file.
